Sunday, 31 August 2014

The insurmountable problems of a secret time traveller.

This is the spur for my Old Geezers' second trip back in time. Being chased by a giant and amorous woman has (almost) nothing to do with it.

    A potential prototype for the cover. 

‘Wasamatter?’ Chet grinned, ‘Your true love was just in here pining for you.’ This was one of the few things guaranteed to upset Abe. The Chief Administrator’s juvenile devotion to Abe haunted him even more than the horror they’d been through so recently. Not even his close association with the two she loathed was enough to divert the course of her love even though he’d neither initiated nor returned them with anything other than the polite resignation of a man long resigned to the folly of interpreting the mores of the opposite sex.

‘Oh give it a rest, Chet, I’m really pissed.’ He really had to be as Abe almost never swore and not even the name of his would-be lover seemed to rouse him. Amon’s eyes lit up. Someone else was going to get it instead of him for a change. It was time to join in.
‘What is it?’ Chet demanded seeing the evil glint in Amon's rheumy eyes, while Abe’s own reddened orbs, ominously red in contrast to his pallid face, glared with futile rage.
‘I must have called the Defense Department twenty times. Even when I finally got through and played: pass-me-round-every-department-in-the-goddamn-building, all I got was some smooth talking asshole saying: “thank you, but you must understand that…” It’s driving me nuts!’ Obviously reading their blank expressions Abe erupted with increased fury, much to the consternation of a passing guest who squeaked in fright before apparently recovering enough vitality to abandon her Zimmer frame and sprint away. ‘The bomb, the damned bomb! I told them it was going to go off, but they won’t believe me.’
‘Well of course they won’t believe you.’ Chet attempted, and failed to keep the sarcasm from his voice. ‘It’s not due to go off for another ten years. What do you expect? “Yes sir, a nuclear bomb is going to go off in Mexico City in ten years – we’ll look right into it.” Look,’ he glared at Abe, ‘it’s over, finished, finito. We’re home, we’re alive. That SOB is dead. Get over it.’